


Galop Infernal

by Control_Room



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: The prompt was you are on the titanic as it sinks. What do you do?I am undoubtedly a musician.





	Galop Infernal

“Well gentlemen,” I turn to the other time travelers sentenced behind me, “It has been an honor.”

 

“We’re sinking!” a man with an irish accent screams from somewhere within the vast crowd. “Save yourselves!”

 

Nods of agreement and murmurs of truth follow my words.

 

“Someone help us!” a woman shrieks. “Help!”

 

I raise my trombone.

 

A rattling cry of, “It’s cold!”

 

The others raise their instruments.

 

With calm words we dissuade the pianist from raising his own, though we all know he can.

 

“Shall we begin?” the violinist asks me. I ponder a moment and give a slow nod in response. Someone passes their child to another passenger. “What song shall it be, miss?”

 

“The is only one song that truly fits this occasion,” I solemnly regard. I wave to the cellist and violinist, indicating they take position. “Now, allow us to begin… the absolute masterpiece… Jacques Offenbach's… Galop Infernal.”

 

“Jolly good!” the cellist exclaims, and starts playing. “Triangle!”

 

People are screaming and running around us as our good triangle man hits his small instrument with all his might.

 

The trumpeter joins in, hitting the upbeat tune.

 

Someone leaps off the boat.

 

The trianglist, tired from bashing his instrument, sits atop the piano.

 

The lifeboats are being filled by women, children, the elderly, and cowards.

 

I lift my trombone, blowing to initiate the dance of the Can can.

 

To our amusement, the people before us seem to be panicking in time with the music.

 

It is almost a petrified rhythm of shouts and cries.

 

Our pianist bashes his keys with closed eyes and a pleasant grin.

 

What else can we do?

 

Our tone drops as the lifeboats are lowered into the water.

 

The ship tilts significantly, we all are facing out to the water, and with a rending  _ crash _ , the cruiser snaps in half, in time with our beats.

 

The water is icy, but not as much as our hearts as we smile and play away.

 

With a final blow, I signal the final descent -- after all, this was capital punishment for time travelers, to perish in the manner they had caused. 

 

We, the musicians, had caused the sinking of the colossal ship many years ago in the future.

 

And now, we sank to its depths.

 

Or we would have, had I not been prepared us an escape, a backup time machine hidden within the curve of my trombone.

 

There are no instruments in the wreckage of the titanic.

 

There is, however, a bacteria only found in that area, Halomonas titanicae, an odd little evolution of a metal eating creature.

 

One my time had genetically modified to cut down on the mass amounts of useless iron.

 

It may have clung to my trombone and thus escaped into this time period’s world.

 

Whoops.


End file.
